


Working On Technique

by castielslovesong



Series: Tumblr drabbles [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cute, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, I hate tagging, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, but the, castiel's trechcoat as a character actually has me laughing so hard right now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 19:12:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2079870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielslovesong/pseuds/castielslovesong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who knew that missing the bus could be so good?</p><p>Dean really needs to remember to thank Sam for stealing his car at the crack of dawn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Working On Technique

“Fucking asshole!” Dean shouts, slumping as the bus speeds past without faltering in its speed in any way at all.

He’s pretty sure he saw the driver smirking to. Dick.

So now he’s left in the pouring rain, by the curb, watching the raindrops patter and splash in the puddles that have accumulated around him. When he gets to Sam, _if_ he gets to him, he is going to kick the little bitch’s ass for taking the Impala.

“Peachy.” He mutters to himself, scuffing his boot on the gravel.

It’s only then that he hears someone’s barely contained laughter. He turns, insult and half-assed remarks on the tip of his tongue; the words get stuck in his throat. Sat in the shelter is easily 6ft of pure (heaven help him, yes that was a pun, no he doesn’t regret it) angel, or tax accountant. Really, with that trenchcoat it’s hard to say.

His hair is slightly curled, from the damp or from walking to the stop and his legs are splayed, hands resting on his knees, revealing what are definitely runners’ thighs beneath black slacks. Dean’s eyes inspect him, from the odd socks peaking out of his shoe to the backwards tie and then up to his neck and-

Oh _God_ that neck. He has the sudden urge to press his tongue against that glorious 5 o’clock shadow and trace the fine, tanned skin. Swallowing, Dean shoves those insults back down to his stomach, willing himself to look up from that slightly amused curve of lips to meet the man’s eyes.

Which is about as far as his brain gets because holy hell are they blue. His mind scans through every image he has on record for: blue. There’s that ice cream Sammy had when they were kids, no too dark. The ocean he stood at and watched his father’s ashes drift away on, too light. It’s somewhere between the night sky and an infinite whirl of a gem he can’t name. The man’s smile falters as they hold one another’s gaze.

Dean clears his throat, moving out of the rain to sit beside the man. He may or may not take some satisfaction in the uncomfortable shift of him, showing that Dean isn’t the only one feeling a large dose of _something_ fluttering in his chest.  It’s nice to cut down someone with a cocky demeanour every once and a while.

“Can’t believe he didn’t stop.” He grunts after he comes to realise the other man isn’t going to initiate conversation. Stretching his legs out, he pauses. Why does he even what to have a conversation? It’s not like he’s a massive people person.

“Your technique could use work.” The man’s voice is deep and almost a growl, hard and rough just like his exterior. Dean likes it and immediately scolds himself for that thought.

“Oh yeah?” He faces the other man, meeting his gaze again because apparently he hadn’t looked away. If the guy wasn’t so damn good looking, Dean might have been creeped out by it. Right now though, he can barely stop himself from preening and deliberately pulling out the stops to never have those eyes look away from him. The man’s focus is so entirely on him, it’s the first time Dean’s been looked at as something important, worth paying attention too...

“I didn’t even know there _was_ a technique.” He rubs a hand down his face. People who get up to commute this early deserve a high-five and a pass back to bed.

“You are your own example.” He replies, smile widening. He squints, head tilting ever so slightly to the right. “Is this your first time...”

“Dean.” He finishes for him, before snorting at what the guy had implied. “Hell no, I’m not a public transport virgin!”

The guy just looks confused.

“I don’t understand, many virgins use public transport. It is a perfectly reasonable decision to choose.” He’s frowning, just at the bridge of his nose.

~~Dean does definitely not find his obliviousness adorable.~~

“Well...”

“Castiel.”

“Well Cas,” Dean continues, eyes drifting to check the mercilessly empty road, “I have of course used public transport. I just prefer going by car.”

Cas shakes his head. “I couldn’t disagree more. Cars are incredibly confining.”

He should not be insulted on behalf of cars. Damn it.

“Aw come on, they’re not that bad. You should see my baby, beautiful, leather seats, and rides like a dream.”

Cas does a half smile again. That he might be willing to admit is kind of cute. In the least demeaning way possible – Cas, the stranger, is cute.

“So why aren’t you driving it?”

Sighing, Dean scrubs a hand over his face once more. He could do with 5 or so cups of coffee. “My little brother’s girl went into labour. They don’t live around here.”

And, seriously since when were strangers so kind, Cas perks up, eyes bright and interested. “Congratulations. Is it a boy or girl?”

He checks his phone, conscious of the fact that Jess could be having his niece or nephew right now, but because his brother thought it was another damned ‘false alarm’ decided not to wake him. It’s the story of his life in one aborted action. He presses the button, making sure for the 5th time it’s on loud.

“Not sure yet, she went in about an hour ago.”

Cas nods. “Where are they – I apologise. This is my bus.”

Dean squints into the rain, seeing the approaching bumper and headlights. He shouldn’t feel disappointed but he does. He’s starting to like Cas.

“Go get ‘em tiger.”

He takes immense pleasure when Cas stands out in the rain, hair flattening against his face from the pressure of it. Cas turns to smile at him, giving a short wave, then stands on the edge of the curb with his hand out.

The exact same ‘technique’ Dean had tried.

The bus advances on Cas, who waits patiently.

Dean all but pees himself when the bus whizzes past, splashing a large amount of the puddle accumulating in one of the pot holes straight over Cas. For his part, he doesn’t even move. When Dean can control his laughter, he looks up wiping his eyes. Cas’ hand is still held out; he almost comically pivots on his foot, the rest of him stock still, drenched from head to toe in water.

They make eye contact. Both of them start laughing again. It gets to the point where Dean’s chest actually hurts and he’s left gasping for breath like a drowning fish. Cas isn’t much better off, cheeks flushed red with tears joining the droplets of water rolling down his face.

“I hate to break it too you Cas,” he manages between guffaws, “But your technique could do with some work.”

Eventually, the chuckles subside and they fall into an easy silence. Cas surveys himself, trenchcoat sodden and sticking to his lean frame. It’s a tease of the muscle that’s there, the white of his dress shirt is near see through and Dean has to mentally order himself to look away. He totally saw the tattooed wing of a bird on his peck.

“Where were we?” Cas breathes out, “I remember, where is your brother from?”

“California, his girl came down here to be with her parents for the last legs of the pregnancy. Apparently she’s had the temperament of the Hulk for the last few months.” He chuckles fondly, “What about you Cas, an siblings around here?”

The smile on Cas’ face turns into a grimace, or there abouts. “Yes. Gabriel and Lucifer are my older brothers that I talk to. There is also Michael, Raphael and Anna who I am no longer in contact.”

“Ouch dude. Probably too personal for a stranger at a bus stop, huh.”

Cas gives him a funny look then, one that matches confusion and disagreement framed in a single arch of eyebrow and scowl of eyes. Then he sees behind Dean’s lopsided smile to the same number bus he had missed.

“I guess so.” He says, dismissively.

“See you around Cas.”

The bus stops this time, Dean risking a final glance to Cas, back to his original posture and position, praying most likely that his bus will also stop. He pulls the loose change from his pocket and steps onto the bus out of the rain.

Cas waves as he pulls away.

 

“I told you Sammy, I can’t find it.”

It was a boy. Max John Winchester. Dean had held the coming up to 9lb bundle of minichester in his arms, shedding one of his few tears. He stayed for a while, checking on Jess and hugging his not so little bro anymore. Sadly, life doesn’t stop for the miracle of life and he had to head home to get ready for work tomorrow.

He’s a firefighter and a total badass. This was his first day off in a year.

And such a good day went completely to shit when he got home – after a significantly less interesting bus journey – and couldn’t find his wallet.

“I know, I know. I’ll let you get back to the Mistress and Max... Dude no, just keep baby safe alright?”

Hanging up, he throws his phone on top of the overturned couch cushions, discarding Sam’s clothes from the day before on the floor by the coffee table. His flat is by no means a masterpiece, but he does take a certain pride in it. Unlike Sam who is a total slob and leaves all the cleaning to Jess. He’s seriously considering phoning up and cancelling his cards when a knock at his door stops him.

Opening the door, his heart stops in his chest.

“I’d give you a 10 for execution but your departure was incredibly sloppy.”

He doesn’t remember who initiated the kiss. He’s lost in Cas pressing him against a wall, their tongues sliding across one another and the scratch of stubble across his cheek. He finally, finally, gets to touch and feel what Cas’ - still wet - clothes had hidden and he groans.

"How’s that for technique?" Dean smirks, eyes softening at the sight of Cas’ eye roll. His arms have him bracketed against the wall, the dampness of Cas’ clothes leaking into him. 

Neither of them remember who initiated the kiss, just that they have one hell of a story to tell when people ask how they met. 


End file.
